


what a colorful world we live in

by Phobiae



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: dont expect good stuff from me, i just write at 2 am, while my mind forgets all sense of reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29673357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phobiae/pseuds/Phobiae
Summary: Black and white. And red.aka me attempting to try and use the morality scale and also rant about how black and white mha is
Kudos: 2





	what a colorful world we live in

Techno was always one for violence. He was always the first to suggest murder, the first to suggest blood.

Maybe that’s why everyone called him “the Blood God”. Some say the chant “Blood for the Blood God” implies there is a Blood God that’s above Techno, but those people are fools. All fools.

Techno made his way up another flight of stairs, a bloody mess behind him. He was never one for clean kills, however. He was too quick and too strong so he was always used to the simple slash of the sword on the neck, no matter the mark it leaves on the purple blade. It was his ‘I was here’ card in some ways, he supposed.

So he murdered his way up the building, the screaming of the dead excuses of heroes drowned out by _them_ chanting for more blood.

At least he had a motive. He never liked the hero system, no. It always gave the heroes and everyone else a sense of power over the civilians. Power corrupts, they say. And they’re right. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Villains were never black. Always gray. Heroes that were once a pale shade of gray turn into dark slates of obsidian. If the heroes were any less dark than diorite, ever, at least. But using monotone and dead colors of the lighting spectrum was not a good enough way to show one’s morality. Not even shades of blood would help. It was always the entire rainbow on their shoulders.

He walks up a particularly long flight of stairs, reloading his crossbow with the red and black shades of anarchy.

Red, brown, black. The constants in his life were all that. He didn’t really have allies. So instead he leaned on blood. He saw it raw, he saw it dry, he saw it heal.

Imagine having allies. Cringe. Allies only lead to backstabbing. Backstab after backstab. Experience is where he spoke from. What were the names? He had forgotten. Too many had betrayed him, too many had abused his loyalty.

None of his former allies shared his spark, either. The now black men often had much lighter shades of peach and brown, much brighter shades of yellow and much calmer shades of blue. The red was always gray, or dull.

Violence was never the answer in the fools' eyes. But then again, the organizations that rule the world say the same. The tyrants just lock villains like him in prisons, mocking them with crying walls and purple-and-white magic as they wake up to another day.

He ran up another flight of stairs, his blade glowing with the purple enchantments that were morally too white.

Morals, colors. Too diverse, too confusing for the human mind to comprehend, let alone describe. Yet, he sees it all in red. Red, brown, black, they say. Red, brown, black. He sees it all in only that.

If he had friends, maybe he’d see in green. Blue, maybe. Yellow would be nice. But not gold. Betrayal comes always from golden hair and calculating smiles.

What was he in the colorful language of pain? Red would be the obvious answer. Black, too. Violence is bad, at least according to society. Red mixed with white is pink. That would be nice. He made a habit out of dyeing his hair pink, after all. Too bad there was too much red in the color for it to be that anymore. Pink hair, red gown, black pants, white blouse. And a golden crown.

Another flight of stairs, his jeweled trident glistening in the red-orange sun. The sun was too white.

His crown wasn’t that golden, to be fair. Daffodil and shiny, maybe, but not golden. What did daffodils represent again? Oh, right. Rebirth. He hoped the pain called rebirth wouldn't happen. Life offered little, after all. What color was life? Most would say pale shades of yellow and blue. Mostly yellow. Not sure where the pale part came from, but then again, fools litter the world.

He wants to see something not red, not bright, searing, eye-straining red. He couldn’t live without it, but wouldn’t it be nice to see something?

Violence, murder. What happens when the people he kills die? Do they experience true rebirth? Or do they simply restart? Death isn’t permanent, and he knows. They know.

Red, brown, and black, they say. Gold, they say.

He walks up the last flight of stairs, one man waiting to turn red, just like everyone else. Maybe the guys at the bottom would be brown by now.

One man waiting to turn red. One man in golden hair, blue eyes, and a green hat. Golden hair, blue eyes, green hat, and a smile. A calculating smile.

The eyes speak otherwise. His eyes speak with love. Blue, bright blue eyes with white discs where the pupils should be.

Of course he has white eyes. He’s a hero. His hat is striped with white, too. So why was he wearing shades of dark gray and green?

The man must have noticed Techno’s hesitance. His smile turned genuine, his posture less stiff. His hair, constantly calm, hiding any true panic. And so he spreads his colorful wings in the shades of purple, blue, red, yellow, and gray to embrace Techno.

And white. Pale purple, pale blue, pale red, pale yellow, white, and dark gray.

His naturalities were so very pale. The only signs of darkness was his outfit and wings. Otherwise, he’s painted in golden hair.

Techno colored him in red. He tried to. His tecniqueless style of offense lasted long enough as the man stopped him.

And so he saw the heart. Red and black, with no trace of white. No reflection from the lights. Just red and black, ten hearts with only red and black.

Red and black, the colors of anarchy. Red and black, the colors of blood. Red and black, the true constants in his life.

The man’s eyes now spoke with a love for destruction. A trait that was simultaneously red, yellow, pink, and green. And black.

The man smiled, the smile giving the room and everything in it a new color. Pale blue and white. Pale blue. White. “Hey mate, I’m Phil.”

And so gold was added to the constants list in his life.


End file.
